


Change of Plans

by deedeeinfj



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't have any plans for Thanksgiving? You?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Based on stars_inthe_sky's prompt in the Leslie/Ben Ficathon: Post "I'm Leslie Knope," any rating, Ben looked at her incredulously. "You don't have any plans for Thanksgiving? You?" (can go angsty or not) I'm placing it after "The Treaty" and before "Smallest Park."

"You don't have any plans for Thanksgiving?  _You_?"

It's one of many times they've bumped into each other at work since their two nations declared a truce. They've been friendly, but awkward friendly, which is somehow worse than not speaking at all. In this particular run-in, she had asked him about his plans for their Thanksgiving holiday, and he'd told her briefly about his plan - the same every year - to spend it with his family back home in Partridge. When he'd followed that up with the obligatory "What about you?" she had only shrugged and replied that she wasn't doing anything special.

"Sorry," he continues at the sight of her half-smile, "you just seem like one of those people who are really into holidays. You  _are_  one of those people... aren't you?" Why does he suddenly feel like an idiot who doesn't know her at all?

"Yeah, I am," she concedes. "Except for Thanksgiving. That's one of those holidays for big, close families, you know? It's just never been a thing for me." They stop at her office door, and she brings her pile of papers up to her chest with one hand and reaches for the door with her other. "See you around?"

"Yeah," he says.

He gets very little done that day, and not just because it's the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and people are too busy and happy to complain about stuff at City Hall. He feels depressed and frustrated and lonely. The plane ticket in his wallet, 8:45 tonight from Indianapolis, does little to cheer him. And why should it? He loves his family, sure, but the person he most wants to spend Thanksgiving with is, one, not his girlfriend anymore, two, only his uncomfortable friend now, and three, spending her day alone.

It bothers him maybe more than it should. But, damn it, Thanksgiving was  _made_  for someone like Leslie Knope. Someone stubbornly optimistic. Someone fiercely loyal and loving. Someone who took the time to give perfect gifts and stage elaborate parties. Someone who loved food.

Somehow, and he doesn't quite know what's come over him, but somehow, he hears himself on the phone with his mother. Hears himself telling her that he's coming down with the flu, he thinks, and he doesn't think he can fly home tonight.

He hears himself - and he  _really_  can't believe this - going home and asking April and Andy if they're doing anything special for Thanksgiving.

April wrinkles her nose, taking one corner of her mouth up with it. "Ew, no."

"We have a lot of chili and Doritos, so I figured we'd hang out here," Andy throws in.

"Well, we're going to have Thanksgiving here with our friends," Ben tells them.

"We are?" They ask it at the same time with wildly different tones.

"Yes," he says. He nods, and it's to convince himself as much as he's convincing April (Andy is already sold on it). "Yes, that's what we're doing."

Before he heads to the store, Ben needs a head count, so he starts making calls. Twenty minutes later, their guest list hasn't gotten any bigger. Ann is stuck with a shift at the hospital, Donna is already on her way to Vegas, Chris has plans in Indianapolis, Ron barks that he doesn't leave his shop on holidays, Tom doesn't answer the phone, and Jerry is spending Thanksgiving with his family. Well, Ben reasons, they still have enough for a respectable, if strange, dinner.

He writes out a shopping list, which is longer than it should be since it includes a few basic kitchen necessities in addition to food.

There's another phone call he needs to make, but he puts it off because he wants it to be a surprise.

Wednesday is spent cooking. Andy wants to help, so Ben gives him the jobs that he once did as a kid: mashing potatoes and setting the table. For an unexpectedly small sum of money, he's able to bribe April into cleaning all the rotten food out of the fridge so that everything can be put away for tomorrow.

It's a long day, but he feels more satisfied than he has in months. Now he needs to call Leslie.

"Leslie Knope, Parks department," she answers on the second ring.

"Ben Wyatt, machete department," he responds, smiling at the wall.

"Hey, Ben. Aren't you in Minnesota?"

"Yeah, no, unexpected change of plans. My flight got canceled... big mess... and, long story short, we're doing Thanksgiving, April and Andy and me. We'd like you to come, too."

There's a little pause, and then she says, "Really?"

"Yep. What do you say?"

"Sure, that sounds nice." He can hear the smile in her voice, and it makes his chest hurt in a good way that's become all too familiar. The Leslie-ache, he could call it. "Anything I need to bring?"

"Some wine if you like. But, really, we've got everything here. See you at noon?"

"Noon," she repeats. "Yes."

Another pause, longer this time. "Good night, Leslie," he says.

At a quarter to noon on Thanksgiving Day, April informs him that she and Andy are going to her parents' house. He almost protests, but he knows why they're doing this. And he knows that they know that he knows.

When Leslie arrives, he wordlessly takes her coat and scarf and hat, and he watches her take in the spread of food laid out on the table, complete with flowers and candles.

"Wow," she breathes. "So this is like a real Thanksgiving dinner."

He goes to pull out her chair for her. "What were you expecting?" he says, smiling.

"Something more April and Andy style," she grins. "Speaking of which..."

"Long story. They're not coming."

Her cheeks redden. "Oh."

"Dig in," he says as he takes the chair opposite hers. He moves the flowers aside so they can see each other across the table.

They are relatively quiet as they eat. A few times, their eyes meet and fall away again.

"It's amazing how much this feels like... you know, a real Thanksgiving," she says.

"Well, it is a real Thanksgiving. Turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie, and at least one person you lo—care about. At least one friend." He hands her a plate of pumpkin pie, which is barely visible under a mountain of whipped cream.

"It's our first Thanksgiving," she says quietly. "It should've been our first together. If things were fair."

"Don't." He sets his fork down on his plate and stares down at it. He blinks once, twice, to ease the sting in his eyes. "Please don't."

He can't see her face, but he hears her sigh. "Okay."

They finish dessert in silence. They look across at each other.

"I'm sorry if I made this weird," she says. "I just..."

"Leslie."

"Don't. I know."

Against his protests, she insists on helping him put the leftover food away and wash the dishes. Against her protests, he insists on packing up some of the leftovers for her to take home. He walks her to the door, and when he holds out her coat for her, she takes his hand instead.

"Thank you for this. It was..." Her eyes search his face as if the word she's looking for is written there. "Really special. I loved it." She shrugs on her coat and reaches for her hat and scarf.

In that hat, she is one of the most adorable things he's ever seen. In that hat, she's someone that he can't just be friends with. He knows that now. He can't be friends with Leslie Knope. Maybe it's selfish and unevolved and even pathetic, but it hurts too much. He won't tell her today, of course.

He walks her to her car and sets the bag of leftovers on her passenger seat. He buckles the seat belt around it.

"Thanks again for all this," she says, leaning forward in her seat to see him. "Bye, Ben."

He can't say goodbye to her, so he closes the door and gives her a dorky wave. She drives away, and as he walks back to the house, he can't help thinking that he did get one Thanksgiving with the woman he loves. It's better than nothing.


End file.
